


Trudged

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 17:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11166267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A moment after carrying the boats.





	Trudged

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Set in _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , book 2, chapter 9, wherein Boromir and Aragorn carried the boats one by one along the river. For this week’s [silmread](http://silmread.tumblr.com/post/161450740015/29-the-great-river).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When they settle down at last beside the roaring river, Aragorn’s lungs are trembling, his skin slick with sweat and his heart racing as quickly as the rapids. All the party is similar, except, of course, for Legolas, who still looks lovely in his weariness. His brow is dry, though his legs still sink gratefully to the earth, and then again, he carried only packs.

Aragorn and Boromir carried _boats_. Though born of elves, made from supple trees and light to hold, they were still awkward to lug over the underbrush of the forest. Aragorn’s toes are still throbbing from scrabbling over rocks. Boromir looks much the same, and as Merry sits out for watch, Boromir stumbles through the messy camp to kneel at Aragorn’s side. Their broad shoulders held the brunt of it again, and it shows. Boromir is breathing hard. It’s telling that he makes no effort to convince Aragorn of Gondor this time, only tries to settle close to Aragorn along the smooth rock he’s propped against. The leaves overhead shield them somewhat from what little there is of the sun, and the air is thick and cloying. Aragorn shifts to glimpse Boromir’s handsome face.

For once, Boromir has no words for him. Boromir fidgets, curling up with a cloak for a blanket, trying different positions, until finally he surrenders with a little sigh and lays his head on Aragorn’s shoulder. Aragorn says nothing of it.

Aragorn enjoys it while he can. He tries to savour the warmth, the sturdiness, the strange comfort of traveling with a Man—and not just any, but a son of _Gondor_. Aragorn would follow Boromir home if he could. He’d walk through the proud streets and pass the growing tree, meet the steward that’s kept his place, and maybe nothing more. Maybe he wouldn’t even need to claim the crown just yet. But he wants to _be_ there, to feel Gondor all around him and bask in Boromir’s smile.

He wants a great many things, none of which he can have. He tells himself he’ll stand in The White City with Boromir at his side, someday, if not this time, but knows he’s only dreaming.

Boromir has fallen swiftly asleep at his side. He leans his cheek against Boromir’s soft hair and wishes for the future.


End file.
